


The City That Never Sleeps

by ishouldwritethatdown



Series: Useless Rinch Trash [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Insomnia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 10:44:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7099642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishouldwritethatdown/pseuds/ishouldwritethatdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John decides once and for all to get Harold to go get some sleep. For the mission, obviously, because it's affecting his mission effectiveness. He doesn't have extensive worries about Harry's personal wellbeing or anything. No way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The City That Never Sleeps

The click-clacking of the keyboard was slowly but surely putting John to sleep. The dim lights of the subway station and the hard bench opposite the car were hardly a five-star location for a nap, but he had been in worse. He doubted he would ever complain about a place to sleep again after Nepal.

"Finch, c'mon," he urged wearily, "it's almost 2am."

Harold glanced over at him from his workstation with surprise, apparently having forgotten he was there. "I'm not keeping you here, Mr. Reese."

John was reluctant to admit that when he mentally committed himself to getting Finch to get some sleep, he hadn't thought Harold would have quite such resilience on the subject. He hauled himself off the bench with a sigh and wandered over to the desk where Harold sat. The computer screen was filled with maps and charts that he didn't have the energy to make sense of.

"You haven't had any real rest for over a week, Harold," John prompted. "Let me take you home."

"I need to finish this up first," Harold excused, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"I haven't heard that one before," John teased.

Harold paused, his hands suspended over the keyboard. He sighed, and turned to face his partner. "Why are you so concerned about my sleep schedule, Mr. Reese? Did Root say something to you? Because I assure you-"

"Root has nothing to do with it," John cut him off, gently but decisively. "But I don't need the Machine to tell me you're an insomniac."

Finch's expression didn't change. "A phrase which would imply the futility of trying to sleep, I believe," he said.

"If you don't get any rest, it's going to start affecting your ability to think straight. And then our inevitable deaths will probably wind up being a little sooner than expected," John reasoned. "So let me walk you home?"

Already very aware of the weight of his exhaustion, Harold admitted defeat and rose from his chair, quickly saving his progress on the maps and powering down the computer for the night.

John whistled to Bear, who was already rested and ready for action, and he leaped up from his bed to trot along beside them, wagging his tail.

"I don't usually take Bear home with me," Harold informed John, looking at the energised figure-of-eight their dog was doing.

"I know," John said, "but I thought you might appreciate the company." John was no stranger to insomnia. He knew that waking up alone in your own bed was worse than waking up any of the god-forsaken corners of the world he'd done missions in - which was saying a lot.

Harold said nothing. They exited the subway into the vacant streets of Chinatown, lit by a warm glow. It was as quiet as New York could be, with traffic constantly roaring in the background and the thump of music always just in earshot.

They didn't talk much as they walked. John felt that their simple, comfortable existence in each other's company was enough. The footsteps and breathing of two men and a dog were thrown into the chaotic sounds of New York at night. The city smells of fast food, metal, and trash could only be pleasant to those that considered it home.

The walk to Harold's apartment wasn't a long one, but his leg seemed to be bothering him as he let them in to the building. They took the elevator to his floor.

Every time John entered the apartment, there seemed to be more books. It seemed Harold had taken the loss of the library as an opportunity to start his own. Or, maybe it was always like this. The books covered every shelf, every table - and although it appeared chaotic, he suspected there was a very tightly regulated system in place. He was tempted to move a book to the opposite side of the room and see if he noticed.

"Do you want me to stay?" John asked. When Harold's only response was a surprised look, he continued, gesturing to Bear, "Well, you're in safe hands. But I can stick around and keep you company. That is- if you-" He faltered, looking away and feeling embarrassed. It was a dumb offer. He shouldn't have asked. Colour flushed his cheeks.

"I would like that," Harold replied quietly. They only met eyes for a fraction of a second before hurriedly looking away.

John broke out in a half-suppressed grin, looking at the window but not seeing it. He cleared his throat, "Okay. Good, yes. I'll-" he pointed at the bathroom and didn't finish his sentence.

When he'd closed the bathroom door, Harold stayed rooted to the spot for a moment, allowing himself smile and almost laugh at John's very suave seduction technique.

Later, in the creeping light of the early morning, Harold could hear his own heart beating rapidly, pounding from the aftermath of the nightmare. He settled, letting the scenes of destruction fade from the forefront of his mind. He focused on the breathing of his partner and his dog. John lay facing him on his side, while Bear curled at the end of the bed, watching over them. Harold could feel the disturbances of the air and the heat from their bodies, encasing him in a small safe haven.

He reached out to the sleeping John and traced his hands over his arm lightly. Feeling another person beside him, his person, made him feel better. John's face was peaceful and calm - Harold wondered how he pushed away the nightmares. He always knew what to say, could tell what he needed most. It was a natural, comfortable connection, and he was glad to have it. He hadn't felt at ease in bed for a long time.

John had a faint smile on his lips now, and Harold swore that among the quiet sleeping sounds of the apartment, he heard John gently whisper, "You're safe."


End file.
